The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
IV.
A noise ascends into the firmament
From the broad world; the noise of many feet
Passing continually to and fro;
Of many hands employed with helpful tools;
Of many tongues directing, or in prayer
To be directed. Also is there heard
Much joy, though mostly in the young; much mirth,
Though often fevered; and the bounteous year
Continually changing, scatters flowers,
Nurturing secret smiles; and yet withal
Is there not pain and many sighs and groans
From overladen and exhausted hearts?
For not to them the due sun rises fair,
Or providential Ceres plenty brings,
Or life is angel visited, or by gods
Pervaded with ecstatic influences.
Their brows have sunk above the lustreless
Pale eyes; untwisted is the genial curve
Of lip, where horrent the stark teeth appear.
Dreadful to tell, the beaten back is scarred,
The limbs are shrunken, and they must obey.
Over the desert north they swarm amain,
Fleeing before the elder and the tyrant,—
Adventuring with untired prows through storms,—
Courage still waving her inspiring arm
In the dark van—encamping in the waste
With claim of novel sov'reignties and wants.
From the broad world; the noise of many feet
Passing continually to and fro;
Of many hands employed with helpful tools;
Of many tongues directing, or in prayer
To be directed. Also is there heard
Much joy, though mostly in the young; much mirth,
Though often fevered; and the bounteous year
Continually changing, scatters flowers,
Nurturing secret smiles; and yet withal
Is there not pain and many sighs and groans
From overladen and exhausted hearts?
For not to them the due sun rises fair,
58
Or life is angel visited, or by gods
Pervaded with ecstatic influences.
Their brows have sunk above the lustreless
Pale eyes; untwisted is the genial curve
Of lip, where horrent the stark teeth appear.
Dreadful to tell, the beaten back is scarred,
The limbs are shrunken, and they must obey.
Over the desert north they swarm amain,
Fleeing before the elder and the tyrant,—
Adventuring with untired prows through storms,—
Courage still waving her inspiring arm
In the dark van—encamping in the waste
With claim of novel sov'reignties and wants.
What madness seizes him, what strife he bears
Everywhere with him, and devouring thirst
To have, and have alone unshared. I lack!
I lack! continually groaning cries
The man, and in this want creates new cares.
The glittering bands advance, with knife and bow
Guarded; old men with gold upon their breasts,
And soddened eyes, and withered ears, give gold,—
Give and receive,—bartering slaves, the young,
The well-beloved of nature; men unbent,
Save by the curse in Eden uttered; women
With unawakened hearts. How many tears
Must fall e'er resignation can embalm
The arid spirit, and how many pains
Distort the limbs till sense forsakes. I see
Humility and love by their long hair
Dragged on the ground, and the sweet voice become
Jabbering frenzy: for that power is cruel
Which cannot make, but only can command.
Within his cedern walls and veils, secure
That the wind flares not his myrrhed tripod-light,
The powerful, with dark visage, on his couch
Leans, listening to the travail of the storm;
And with vile vows of offered hecatombs,
For force still ministers with fear, he prays!
And evermore the weary are released
By death regenerating; Death, the king
Unhonored, arbiter of man with nature.
In mountain and in valley doth the priest
Resign him to the soil; the waves also
Claim their just share; the north-wind rends the sail.
Fair sea-nymphs! ye have seen him in your caves
Abhorred fall.
Everywhere with him, and devouring thirst
To have, and have alone unshared. I lack!
I lack! continually groaning cries
The man, and in this want creates new cares.
The glittering bands advance, with knife and bow
Guarded; old men with gold upon their breasts,
And soddened eyes, and withered ears, give gold,—
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The well-beloved of nature; men unbent,
Save by the curse in Eden uttered; women
With unawakened hearts. How many tears
Must fall e'er resignation can embalm
The arid spirit, and how many pains
Distort the limbs till sense forsakes. I see
Humility and love by their long hair
Dragged on the ground, and the sweet voice become
Jabbering frenzy: for that power is cruel
Which cannot make, but only can command.
Within his cedern walls and veils, secure
That the wind flares not his myrrhed tripod-light,
The powerful, with dark visage, on his couch
Leans, listening to the travail of the storm;
And with vile vows of offered hecatombs,
For force still ministers with fear, he prays!
And evermore the weary are released
By death regenerating; Death, the king
Unhonored, arbiter of man with nature.
In mountain and in valley doth the priest
Resign him to the soil; the waves also
Claim their just share; the north-wind rends the sail.
Fair sea-nymphs! ye have seen him in your caves
Abhorred fall.
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What shouts, what clang of arms,
What gathering of multitudes all armed,—
Much is there which cannot be borne, and much,
Children of men, not thus to be destroyed!
Kings crowned advance on crownéd Kings, with gleam
Of purple housings and mailed giants. Now
They meet with stunning clang and sound of trump,
Trampling of horse, and fire. Knee strained to knee,
And eye to eye with basilisk destruction,
The thirsting iron spills the wine of life;
Eyes darken in the blood-bath,—over them
New foes contending meet, and forward, still
Hurtling towards this whirlwind, young and old,
Smitten with madness, rush. The trumpet's cry
Continues still throughout the shrieking streets—
Over the palaces and pyramids.
Woman and sphynx and priest are ghastly pale
Behind the brazen gates; but on the wall
The mailed are thronging—from without ascend
Exultingly a thousand climbers. Down!
The crushing stones descend, and arrowy shower!
The alien athletæ sink; yet more
Succeed with straining engines. Ha! what flames
Lash round them! gates expand—the sword completes
The work with flight and triumph and still death.
High prows are veering round unto the waves
Shrouded in smoke, while clapping of glad hands
Sounds on all paths, and round about each shrine
The multitude of dancers sing for joy.
What gathering of multitudes all armed,—
Much is there which cannot be borne, and much,
Children of men, not thus to be destroyed!
Kings crowned advance on crownéd Kings, with gleam
Of purple housings and mailed giants. Now
They meet with stunning clang and sound of trump,
Trampling of horse, and fire. Knee strained to knee,
And eye to eye with basilisk destruction,
The thirsting iron spills the wine of life;
Eyes darken in the blood-bath,—over them
New foes contending meet, and forward, still
Hurtling towards this whirlwind, young and old,
Smitten with madness, rush. The trumpet's cry
Continues still throughout the shrieking streets—
Over the palaces and pyramids.
Woman and sphynx and priest are ghastly pale
Behind the brazen gates; but on the wall
The mailed are thronging—from without ascend
Exultingly a thousand climbers. Down!
The crushing stones descend, and arrowy shower!
The alien athletæ sink; yet more
Succeed with straining engines. Ha! what flames
Lash round them! gates expand—the sword completes
The work with flight and triumph and still death.
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Shrouded in smoke, while clapping of glad hands
Sounds on all paths, and round about each shrine
The multitude of dancers sing for joy.
Lyremmos! have these whispering dreams all fled,
That wolfish yells now reach thine ears alone;
Hast thou resigned all hope, all memory lost
Of primal peace and thy great aspiration?
By Sinai wandering long, what caravan
Escaped from the Egyptian, fed by heaven,
And guided by a kingly patriarch, rests?
Unto those eyes the wonders of the God
Have been revealed; unto those hands consigned
The written law with thunder and through fire.
Is this the wanderer still, from land to land
Passing untired? With ephod, and the sound
Of bells about his skirts, within the veil
He enters, and the past in parable
Is unto him revealed,—the pure repose
Of Eden—the declension and the toil:
Thy toil, Lyremmos, and thy future joy—
Conqueror through Divinity descending.
Appears he yet again upon the deck
Of ships on Adrian and on Ægean waves,
Whose prores are painted with Egyptian eyes,—
Fair in eternal youth he doth appear,
Although with pride debased and wilful force,—
Upon his potent arm an ægis hangs,
Molten with conclave gods; upon his head
The Phrygian tire with stars; and on his brow,
Great as a lion's, calmness, and the joy
Supreme and sweet of arts and flowing numbers.
The dark green waves rejoice around his helm,
And Tritons herald him with shell and shout,
And gambollings grotesque with supple nymphs.
The shores to which he sails with love awake
And claim their lordly bridegroom, everywhere
Vocal with sweetest verse, oracular
With nature deified; and genial shrines
Men dedicate to man, with hands inspired,
Appear. Among the isles, by Carian strands,
Within Etrurian towns, fair gods are born
From human attributes,—Strength, with his club;
Beauty and earthly Love are there; and Force,
With bloody arms; and Art, with hammer clanging.
And Wisdom robed, and Manhood over heaven
Guiding the sun, and Womanhood the moon,
Partially understood, but very fair;
Ceres the bountiful, and reverend Pan,
Lover of silence and of music. Now
He stoops into the Eleusinian shades,
Beautiful fables of Arcadian years
About his heart. The arcane comedy
Fills him with gladness, like a pleasant dream.
From the bright flowers of Enna's meads she sinks,—
Proserpine sinks with Pluto; she looks back,
But she hath tasted, and she must abide
What change the mixéd potion shall perform;
Until emerging she beholds again
Her mother Ceres and autumnal plains.
“I've taken from the Cista's sacred verge
Things arcane: into the Calathus formed
For terrene fruits I've flung them. Hence again
I must retake them.” Thus he doth repeat,
And trembles as he feels that of his search
This might be hieroglyphic. The great sage
Of Samos speaks to him revivingly.
That wolfish yells now reach thine ears alone;
Hast thou resigned all hope, all memory lost
Of primal peace and thy great aspiration?
By Sinai wandering long, what caravan
Escaped from the Egyptian, fed by heaven,
And guided by a kingly patriarch, rests?
Unto those eyes the wonders of the God
Have been revealed; unto those hands consigned
The written law with thunder and through fire.
Is this the wanderer still, from land to land
Passing untired? With ephod, and the sound
Of bells about his skirts, within the veil
He enters, and the past in parable
Is unto him revealed,—the pure repose
Of Eden—the declension and the toil:
Thy toil, Lyremmos, and thy future joy—
Conqueror through Divinity descending.
62
Of ships on Adrian and on Ægean waves,
Whose prores are painted with Egyptian eyes,—
Fair in eternal youth he doth appear,
Although with pride debased and wilful force,—
Upon his potent arm an ægis hangs,
Molten with conclave gods; upon his head
The Phrygian tire with stars; and on his brow,
Great as a lion's, calmness, and the joy
Supreme and sweet of arts and flowing numbers.
The dark green waves rejoice around his helm,
And Tritons herald him with shell and shout,
And gambollings grotesque with supple nymphs.
The shores to which he sails with love awake
And claim their lordly bridegroom, everywhere
Vocal with sweetest verse, oracular
With nature deified; and genial shrines
Men dedicate to man, with hands inspired,
Appear. Among the isles, by Carian strands,
Within Etrurian towns, fair gods are born
From human attributes,—Strength, with his club;
Beauty and earthly Love are there; and Force,
With bloody arms; and Art, with hammer clanging.
And Wisdom robed, and Manhood over heaven
63
Partially understood, but very fair;
Ceres the bountiful, and reverend Pan,
Lover of silence and of music. Now
He stoops into the Eleusinian shades,
Beautiful fables of Arcadian years
About his heart. The arcane comedy
Fills him with gladness, like a pleasant dream.
From the bright flowers of Enna's meads she sinks,—
Proserpine sinks with Pluto; she looks back,
But she hath tasted, and she must abide
What change the mixéd potion shall perform;
Until emerging she beholds again
Her mother Ceres and autumnal plains.
“I've taken from the Cista's sacred verge
Things arcane: into the Calathus formed
For terrene fruits I've flung them. Hence again
I must retake them.” Thus he doth repeat,
And trembles as he feels that of his search
This might be hieroglyphic. The great sage
Of Samos speaks to him revivingly.
“Revere the gods immortal, first fo all;
Next thine own verity; the Oath revere:
Revere the heroes: to terrestrial demons
Render the natural worship: to thy sire
And to thy mother honor give likewise,
And love unto thy friend with constancy.
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Revere the heroes: to terrestrial demons
Render the natural worship: to thy sire
And to thy mother honor give likewise,
And love unto thy friend with constancy.
“These things are well: and next for fleshly ills.
Much, I beseech thee, much command, for life
Is nourished through those appetites which cry
Give, give! continually, and would fain
Be themselves rulers and not ministers.
Nor eating, nor reposing, nor in wrath,
Nor in desire, be more nor less than just;
For shame is raised by these 'twixt us and heaven,
And good becomes reversed, no more with light
Descending, but exhaling from beneath.
For is not man the temple and the god
At once? So reverence thyself, O man,
Above all things.
Much, I beseech thee, much command, for life
Is nourished through those appetites which cry
Give, give! continually, and would fain
Be themselves rulers and not ministers.
Nor eating, nor reposing, nor in wrath,
Nor in desire, be more nor less than just;
For shame is raised by these 'twixt us and heaven,
And good becomes reversed, no more with light
Descending, but exhaling from beneath.
For is not man the temple and the god
At once? So reverence thyself, O man,
Above all things.
“The body and the soul
Are two; the active mind between them reigns.
Observe the right in action and in word;
Beware of Custom, reason evermore
Still turning to this truth, that fortune's wares
Are mobile as the withering leaves of trees—
Value them not: patience! and persevere
Without them; fate is wise unto the good,
And all men die—yea, death is ever near.
Strange theorems, beware of them; give place;
Be not seduced; by understanding act;
By reasoning believe; deliberate:
In all things mediocrity is best.
When night descends, and to the couch comes sleep
Softly on tiptoe, let her not, until
With forehead on thy hand thou scrutinize
The past day, good or ill, but hour by hour,
If ill, determine, and if good rejoice.
These ways are true, they are divine; I swear
By Him who made the Soul, and planted there
The fixed idea of the universe.
Are two; the active mind between them reigns.
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Beware of Custom, reason evermore
Still turning to this truth, that fortune's wares
Are mobile as the withering leaves of trees—
Value them not: patience! and persevere
Without them; fate is wise unto the good,
And all men die—yea, death is ever near.
Strange theorems, beware of them; give place;
Be not seduced; by understanding act;
By reasoning believe; deliberate:
In all things mediocrity is best.
When night descends, and to the couch comes sleep
Softly on tiptoe, let her not, until
With forehead on thy hand thou scrutinize
The past day, good or ill, but hour by hour,
If ill, determine, and if good rejoice.
These ways are true, they are divine; I swear
By Him who made the Soul, and planted there
The fixed idea of the universe.
“Of spirit: pray to God; by use of prayer
Thou wilt approach Divinity, and know
The constitution both of gods and men.
Men shut their eyes and go astray; the good
Is nearest, but they see it not, alas!
Erring, still erring. Zeus, father-power!
Deliver us, or show us our own souls.
Courage, my brethren! are we not divine?
All sacred nature's holiest mysteries
To us are given, and when life's coil is wound,
Transformed the wise shall verily be gods.”
Thou wilt approach Divinity, and know
The constitution both of gods and men.
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Is nearest, but they see it not, alas!
Erring, still erring. Zeus, father-power!
Deliver us, or show us our own souls.
Courage, my brethren! are we not divine?
All sacred nature's holiest mysteries
To us are given, and when life's coil is wound,
Transformed the wise shall verily be gods.”
| The Year of the World | |